The Persistence of Memory
by Stacy Galore
Summary: Being in love is ecstasy. Love itself is agony. At least, for Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, it is. Work-In-Progress
1. Chapter 1

"The Persistence of Memory"

By Stacy Galore

_A/N: "The Persistence of Memory" is a continuation of "Persistence". If you want to understand everything, please read "Persistence" first. It's a quick read. The title is taken from a 1931 Salvador Dali painting._

_THANKS: To my meticulous and all around awesome betas Megan and Felena. To my lovely muses DracoTMalfoy and NottTheodore (follow them on Twitter). To Jenniffer for her insight and for converting me to a "Dracodore" shipper. Finally, to Daniel for planting dirty little plot bunnies in my mind and for late night consultations on AIM that soon degenerate to meaningless debates such as, "During mutual masturbation, which hand does Theodore use to wank himself, and which hand does he use to wank Draco?" (Yes, I swear, we've had serious discussions on this matter.)_

Chapter 1:

Draco Malfoy walked down the street of a somewhat shady neighborhood in London carrying a take-away bag and a cardboard tray with two large cups of coffee. He was completely unaffected by the stares he was eliciting as he strut down the pavement confidently. It wasn't his manner of dress that drew attention, though he wore an impeccably tailored designer suit and stood out amongst the skinny-jean-clad hipsters and disheveled junkies that shared the sidewalk with him. People were staring because it was pouring rain and Draco had no need for an umbrella. While everyone scuttled from place to place, seeking their destinations quickly, Draco casually strolled along, untouched by the cold, pelting rain. It rolled off his hair and his suit in large, glistening beads, as if Draco were coated in wax. He even cleverly enchanted his take-away with the same rain-repellent spell.

He arrived at his destination, a former industrial building that had been converted to apartments and artists' studios. Draco scrunched up his nose with repugnance and scoffed inwardly, "_What a very dreadful fate for one of our society's most wealthy, pure-blooded men. I've heard of slumming it, but this is a bit much."_ He clandestinely slipped his wand out of his pocket and cautiously waved it under cover of his jacket at the locked front door, forgoing the buzzer. He entered, muttering to himself, "_And not even one enchantment to supplement the useless_ _Muggle security? Inconceivable!"_

Rather than attempting to figure out the forbidding looking freight elevator that served as the passenger lift for the residents, Draco apparated to the top floor after ensuring no one was near to witness it. Surely, the door to the flat _must_ have some security enchantments. Draco tapped his wand on the doorknob anyway and whispered, "_Alohomora._" To his astonishment, the locks clicked and the door creaked noisily as it opened. As he walked in, he uttered, "Un-fucking-believable." Then he called out, "Do you have some sort of death wish, Nott? No security charms _at all_ in this bloody neighborhood?"

Theodore Nott's flat was starkly more bright than the dim and depressing corridor. An entire wall of windows that stretched from the cement floor to the lofty ceiling was left un-enchanted and let the outside world in. Draco wondered why in Merlin's name Theodore would want to look at that drab world of concrete tower blocks, dingy brick storefronts, and the ever-present grey gloom of London. On the other walls hung paintings and shelves lined with an odd assortment of items that seemingly had no aesthetic purpose. Racks holding an extensive collection of what appeared to be phonograph records covered one of the shorter walls. There were doorless cabinets showcasing a baffling array of shiny muggle devices with buttons and knobs - Draco wondered if Theodore actually knew how to use them, or if they were just for show. Draco hadn't noticed all this the first time he entered the flat yesterday – he was much too fixated on undressing Theodore.

There was no sign of the flat's inhabitant. Draco's heart sank a fraction of a millimeter. Perhaps he had been presumptuous in thinking Theodore would actually wait around for him, or even welcome him back to his flat. He had left before Theodore awoke, itching for a caffeine fix. Not willing to navigate through Theodore's kitchen, he ventured out to Café Novus Ars for take-away, leaving a note on the bathroom mirror.

_Dear Theodore,_

_I'm miserably inept with kitchen spells, as I'm sure you are too. I'll be back with breakfast and coffee. No chocolate croissants this time._

_Love,_

_Draco_

_PS: I expect you to have showered by the time I return because I intend to fuck you senseless._

"_Presumptuous, indeed_," Draco thought.

Last night, in an unexpected twist of fate, Draco Malfoy found himself in Theodore Nott's bed, after their friendship dissolved ten years prior. Of course, it was not an accident. Draco sought him out, hoping for some sort of closure after years of tension and unspoken desire. Not knowing exactly how that closure was to manifest itself, he made the conscious decision to accept as much of or as little of Theodore as he could get, whether that was a smack in the face, a handshake, or a shag. Draco grinned to himself with smug amusement over the fact that he managed to get the last option out of Theodore so soon. Though who could blame Nott? After reading his novel, Draco surmised that Theodore had been in love with him for years, however subconsciously, and was in deep denial.

Draco would not have even found the book if it weren't for his mother. Narcissa was an avid reader and no longer limited herself to writers of the wizarding world in an attempt to be more cosmopolitan in an increasingly open-minded, post-war society. She often combed through book reviews in muggle papers in search of the next good read. She recognized Theodore Nott's name and asked Draco if it were the same person he went to school with. Draco's curiosity was piqued. He owl-ordered a copy of the book and skimmed the first few pages. After a couple of paragraphs, there was no doubt in his mind that this was indeed the same Theodore Nott who irritated the hell out of him throughout school without needing to utter a word. The main character, Kieran Tate, spoke with the same maddeningly superior, intellectual tone. After a few chapters it became clear that Kieran was a fictionalized version of Theodore. Kieran often spoke of somebody from his youth named Alexander Moreau. Alex could not have been modeled after anyone else but Draco.

If Theodore's novel had really been an indication of what sort of lover he was, it could be inferred that he wouldn't make himself available for a second go if his partner seemed too needy or too pushy. In penning that note and returning to the flat uninvited, Draco was proving himself to be both, and that wouldn't do at all. He didn't know what he was thinking when he woke up this morning, believing he had some sort of relevance in Theodore's life now, rather than just a piece of old history. Perhaps he was still on a post-orgasmic high.

It had been an incredible experience. No one had ever shagged him like that before, as if he were being worshiped, Theodore's hardened flesh an offering to a deity. In fact, no one had ever fucked him. Period. There was a huge discrepancy between whom he took out and whom he took to bed. It was a rarity for Draco to sleep with his dates. This was more a function of preference rather than of opportunity. It was necessary to be seen at high profile social events with a beautiful, well-bred witch on his arm. And honestly, what woman _wouldn't_ want to sleep with Draco Malfoy? Though he was more than amenable to sleep with men, he couldn't bloody well be seen on a date with one.

The way Theodore looked at him last night with those captivating blue eyes, shining with such reverence and adoration, compelled Draco to surrender. In the past, Theodore had never looked upon Draco any way but condescendingly. He was always too good, too clever, too bloody special to allow himself equal footing with Draco. Even that time back at school when their lips nearly met, Theodore's eyes never lost their loftiness while they shone with desire. Then when Theodore was bold enough to kiss him, that sultry night on the Great Lawn when they were fifteen, Draco didn't dare look him in the eyes. He knew that if he did, it would open a door into a world he wasn't prepared to deal with.

So it came as a welcome surprise when he saw an expression of complete relinquishment of control on Theodore's noble face and felt his body acquiesce beneath him. It inspired Draco to grant Theodore the privilege of taking him.

Draco shivered pleasantly from the memory.

He set the paper tray of coffee and the box of sweet things on the kitchen counter and let his gaze wander over the empty, silent flat. Part of him wanted to just go home and pretend last night never happened. He berated himself for being stupid enough to leave a bloody note and even more stupid for wanting more than a one-night stand. Thank Merlin, Theodore wasn't there to make this an even more embarrassing situation than it already was.

Or was he?

"Draco?" came a muffled voice from the bathroom.

"Yes?" he replied, still unsure if he was welcome or not.

"I'm in the bath," Theodore called out.

Then there was silence. Was that an indication that Draco should go see him there? Or just a simple statement with no implied invitation. God, Theodore was an awful host. Draco didn't know what he was expected to do. He still wasn't even sure if Theodore wanted him there. He started opening up cabinets looking for mugs, reluctant to drink his drug of choice out of a paper cup. There were very few essentials in the cabinets – some wine goblets, a few plates, water glasses, and a couple of bowls. There was a crystal ashtray. Draco turned it over and read the maker etched into the bottom. Lalique. He quirked an eyebrow. There was also an alarming number of liquor bottles. Very good bottles of liquor. Draco's quirked eyebrow arched higher.

He scoffed aloud, sarcastically, "Drink much, Theodore?"

"What? I can't hear you properly. Come here," said Theodore from inside the bathroom.

Draco pushed open the unlocked door and peeked his head in. Theodore was having a bubble bath, smoking a cigarette, and writing in a leather-bound journal on top of a rack strewn across the tub. If it were anybody else but Theodore, Draco would have found this odd.

"Judging from the contents of your kitchen cabinets, I'd have to conclude that you take the term 'starving artist' a bit too literally and that you're an alcoholic chain-smoker with expensive tastes to boot," Draco joked.

Theodore chuckled softly as he scribbled on the paper and took a drag off his cigarette. "I don't know why people insist on giving me alcohol as gifts. I don't drink much."

"Duly noted." Draco nodded slowly, thinking about the expensive bottles of fire whisky he usually sent his old Hogwarts mates for Christmas.

Then Theodore looked up from his journal and grinned brightly, for no apparent reason other than to grace Draco with his rare smile. Theodore's entire face lit up when he smiled. Draco could probably count the times he'd seen it on one hand. So when Theodore directed this uncommon expression of happiness towards Draco, it was quite disarming. He looked away and cleared his throat quietly, subconsciously tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear.

"I'm glad you came back," Theodore said coyly.

Draco shrugged and leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed. "You doubted I would? I thought my note made my intention to do so quite clear."

Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip and blushed, as if what he was about to say was more forward of him than allowing Draco to see him in the privacy of his bath. "Do you, erm… plan of fulfilling all your intentions?"

Draco smirked. He daresay Theodore's coyness was _cute_. "I'm a man of my word."

Theodore's eyebrow quirked and his grin turned slightly wry. "Are you, Malfoy? You talk a lot of shit."

Draco could sense the challenge in Theodore's words and rose to it in more ways than one. He sauntered into the room, closed the door behind him, and slipped out of his jacket. Theodore watched him intently, his elbow resting on the porcelain, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Draco sat on the edge of the tub, facing Theodore. He took the cigarette out of Theodore's hand and pressed it to his own lips, inhaling casually as if it were an old habit. He tilted his head back slightly as he blew out the smoke in a plume above their heads. Then he pulled a sour face as the acridness registered on his tongue. "How awful. I'll have to break you of this nasty habit." He coughed and threw the cigarette into the sink. Before Theodore could protest, Draco hooked a finger under his chin. "There are better ways to employ your lips," he said softly as he began to close the distance between their faces.

"Such as?" asked Theodore, a teasing grin playing on his lips.

Draco answered with a kiss. The meeting of their lips was still new and thrilling. Theodore's mouth was soft – he'd tease him for kissing like a girl if he didn't find it so appealing. When Theodore kissed Draco, it was like he was eating something particularly delightful, savoring every gentle bite with quiet moans – it was quite lovely. The delicious sensation of Theodore's tongue gliding over his lips coaxed them to part. Draco could taste the lingering menthol smoke on him, both pleasantly minty and simultaneously gritty, much like Theodore himself – an airy aristocrat and a tortured artist. He quite liked this about Theodore. He could have the novelty of fucking the dirty street urchin while concurrently having the familiar comfort of bedding the pure-blood prince. This thought danced in Draco's mind as they kissed, contributing to the exponential growth occurring between his legs.

Theodore must have sensed the desire behind Draco's kiss for he mumbled an invitation against his lips. "Come into the bath." He lounged back and gazed at Draco with a hungry yearning in his eyes.

Draco rose and crossed his arms, glancing away and feigning an indifferent shrug, hardly trying to hide his playful grin. "I already had a bath this morning." It wasn't as much fun if he gave in easily.

"The point isn't to get clean, Draco." Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip again in the coy way that Draco was quickly finding terribly endearing.

"Right." Draco smirked as he made short work of the buttons on his shirt. "The point is to get dirty." He cocked his head to the side and smiled keenly. "Isn't it, Theodore?"

Theodore answered affirmatively with his own smirk. "Very dirty." Draco slipped out of his shirt, then the tee-shirt beneath. As he did so, Theodore did little to disguise his slow appraisal of Draco's body. Draco daresay he caught Theodore shudder with want.

"Filthy, if you let me have my way," said Draco with a mischievous glint in his silver eyes.

Theodore blushed, a small smile creasing his mouth. It was rather empowering that Draco could still make Theodore nervous, even after spending the night together.

Draco sat on the closed lid of the toilet as he removed his shoes, still feeling Theodore's eyes on him as he fiddled with the laces. He accioed his wand from his jacket hanging on the towel rack, pointed it at the bathtub, and inadvertently at Theodore. Theodore instinctively flinched, but just as soon relaxed, watching Draco siphon off the bubbles.

"You've been undressing me with your eyes this whole time, Nott." drawled Draco. "It's only fair that I get an eye-full of what you're hiding beneath those bubbles."

"Nothing you haven't seen before, Malfoy," Theodore said with a shrug.

This triggered a stark, distant memory in Draco's mind.

It was the summer after their fourth year at Hogwarts. A lot of things happened that summer, leading to the rift in his friendship with Theodore. It was not unusual for them to see each other in various states of undress, being that they shared living quarters at school. Outside of school, it wasn't unheard of either.

Early in the summer, the weather was already sweltering. One particularly humid day, he and Theodore were so hot that they lay on the cool marble floor of the foyer playing exploding snap. His mother's nerves had become as frayed as the ends of her hair and ordered them out of the house to go swim in their private lake. For no other reason than to be an arsehole, Draco did not offer to lend Theodore swim trunks. But what he didn't bargain for was Theodore's desperation to cool off - He threw off his clothes after the arduous walk in the stifling heat to the far southern end of the estate and jumped off the boat dock in his underpants.

After several playful attempts at drowning one another, they grew bored and lay on the banks beneath a willow tree to dry. Draco caught a glimpse of Theodore – water beading and rolling down his lightly bronzed skin, his white boxers clinging wetly to the subtle curves and angles of his body. Draco had always resented how Theodore could color in the sun without burning and freckling like he did. But this time, as he studied the other boy, he wasn't envious. He felt a surge in his lap. It was startling, to say the least. Something inside him ached to feel Theodore's glistening, golden skin flush against his. He had to jump back into the water to tame his errant erection.

Too lost in reminiscence, Draco hadn't realized he was staring until he heard Theodore's haughty snicker. "Come now, Draco, I'm not _that_ much of a sight. You needn't gawk."

He quickly snapped out of the memory and into the moment, playfully splashing Theodore in the face. "Got that right." He quickly pulled off his trousers, speaking in a sensual drawl, "I'm fucking you for your money, not for your looks."

Theodore chuckled, his smile lighting up his face again, compelling Draco to kiss him. The corner of his lips turned upwards in an unavoidable grin as their lips met briefly.

Draco slipped into the bath behind Theodore. The warmth of his body and the water soothed away the remnants of his apprehensions. Theodore seemed to melt into him – he sunk low into the bath between Draco's legs and rested his head on Draco's chest.

"Mmm perfect," Theodore mumbled contentedly.

If there was any doubt left in Draco's mind whether or not Theodore wanted him there, it had now dissolved into the water.

"Aren't I?" Draco replied smugly, half-jokingly, as he idly traced a pattern with his finger around Theodore's shoulder. In truth, this did feel like perfection, like they'd always been together. It felt as if there had not been ten years of animosity, spite, and repressed desire leading up to this moment.

"Draco, last night," Theodore began tentatively, as if he were about to say something bad. And doubt started to creep up again like an insect that just wouldn't die.

"What of it? It was brilliant," said Draco, almost defensively.

"Yeah it was, but…" The hesitation in Theodore's voice was worrisome.

Draco should have anticipated this. There was always a catch, written in fine print at the bottom of an interlude that was too good to be prudent. He steeled his emotions for the inevitable escape clause, imagining the words Theodore would use before he spoke them. _But it has to end here. This is never going to work._ Not that Draco was used to rejection – quite the contrary. Considering whom he shared last night with though, rejection would be logical. It would be Theodore's sweet revenge upon Draco for brutally declining him that night long ago.

Theodore continued, "But I promised myself last night that, if you were still here in the morning, I'd tell you something."

Oh Merlin. This couldn't possibly be good. Nothing good ever started with _I have to tell you something_ or any variation of such phrase. "I'm here, so talk," said Draco, impatience coloring his voice.

Theodore took a deep, cleansing breath before speaking. And in the agonizing few seconds that transpired during that long breath, Draco thought of all the hurtful things Theodore could possibly say to him.

"I'm in love with you, Draco."

His instinct was to snort at himself for thinking the worst, though it would be interpreted entirely the wrong way. Instead, he casually replied, "I know," with a crooked smile.

Other than mind-blowing sex, what could possibly follow a declaration of love that was ten-years in the making? Draco followed through on his intentions and fucked Theodore senseless, making use of every surface en route from the bathroom to the bed. Never once, did Draco return Theodore's sentiment, even though he felt it burning in his chest with increasing intensity every time he drove himself into Theodore's pliant body. He even commanded Theodore to say it again in the heat of passion as he pinned his wrists to the kitchen table. "Tell me again. Tell me you love me."

Theodore gazed up at him, face flushed with ecstasy, moaning the words, "I love you, Draco." Of course, being fucked spectacularly could turn a noncommittal _I'm in love with you_ to a full on _I love you_. It could hardly be taken as fact, when spoken under the influence of sex. People could be coerced to say all manner of things they didn't mean when blinded by lust. As Draco was very adept at 'blinding' people, he'd heard it all and learned to take it with a grain of salt. Yet Draco couldn't help but smirk upon hearing the words and revel in the power of withholding his own amorous return.


	2. Chapter 2

"The Persistence of Memory"

By Stacy Galore

_A/N: As always, my gratitude goes out to Megan and Felena, my lovely betas who also happen to be my wonderful friends. Special thanks go out to Daniel, for his encouragement and his insistence that I finalize this chapter, which had been sitting idly on my hard drive for months. I penned one line in particular for Jenniffer, and I think she'll be able to recognize it right away. Chapter 3 is currently in the works. Let's hope it doesn't take me months to finalize it. If you're reading this on ff dot net, the problem with the lost quotation marks and apostrophes has been fixed (I hope)._

Chapter 2

Being _in_ love with someone and loving someone are two very different things. It's the difference between infatuation and sincere affection. When you're _in_ love with somebody, you could spend days with that person and it would feel like seconds transpiring softly as sand through fingers. You could waste a whole weekend in bed with somebody when you're _in_ love. When you _love_ someone, you could waste an entire lifetime, and you would feel every beautifully painful second of it.

If being _in_ love is ecstasy, then Love is agony.

At least, for Draco Malfoy, it is.

No one really knows which one they are in until they're threatened with the prospect of loss. For most, this prospect doesn't present itself right away. But for Draco and Theodore, it had always been there. He knew that it would all have to end, for Draco's life had been predestined, and there was little room for Theodore. So from the very beginning, Draco understood exactly what he felt for Theodore, and never once allowed himself to say it. Because speaking it aloud would make it all the more real and all the more painful when it ended.

But, really, Draco didn't have to verbalize it.

"Mmm. Beautiful," Draco groaned pleasurably against Theodore's lips.

He had let himself in to Theodore's flat, passing through the wards he had put on the door himself. Theodore was sitting on the sofa in his usual state of repose, with his legs sprawled out across the cushions and a book in his lap. He closed the book, tilted his face to meet Draco's, and blessed Draco with a warm smile, a smile that Draco had seen so rarely up until six moths ago. Despite it's new prevalence, Theodore's smile still managed to be disarming. It always inspired a one-word compliment and a kiss.

Draco could feel Theodore's lips still curving into a grin against his. "And?" prodded Theodore jokingly.

He ghosted his lips from Theodore's mouth up to his cheek and mumbled, "Flawless," before gracing him with another kiss, and then another compliment. "Perfect."

These were words, up until recently, Draco would only ever use to describe himself. It should have said something about what Draco felt for Theodore that he was now assigning these words to him honestly, without any ulterior motives… well, almost none.

"Come off it, Draco. I'm not nearly as gorgeous as you," replied Theodore. As Draco kissed him, he could sense the warmth in Theodore's cheeks, indicating that he'd made him blush.

Draco drawled sarcastically, though playfully, "I never said _gorgeous_, did I?"

Theodore chuckled. "Right. You didn't. That's reserved for you."

Draco pulled back slightly to admire Theodore's face, the back of his hand slowly caressing down his cheek. "Today, you can have it." He leaned back in to press his lips to the spot his hand had just vacated on Theodore's face, mumbling a quiet moan, "Gorgeous."

Theodore leaned away from him with a sharply raised eyebrow, regarding Draco suspiciously. "Is something going on, Draco?"

"No, not really." Draco shrugged casually. "Why do you ask?"

"You're laying it on rather thickly, Malfoy. You're not one to shower anyone with so many compliments unless you're buttering them up for something."

"For sex, maybe," Draco joked. He kept his tone light to hide the nature of his true intentions. "But really, I just thought you looked particularly nice tonight."

Theodore smiled again and made Draco feel terribly guilty for being less than honest. "Thanks. I figured I'd get all 'prettied up' for our date tonight," he said, sarcastically.

Draco forced a smile as he absentmindedly smoothed down the collar of Theodore's tee shirt and superfluously fluffed his dark hair. "That's quite lovely of you, but entirely unnecessary. We'll be dining at The Manor tonight with my mother. Although, it doesn't hurt to look good for mum."

Flattery did little to soften Theodore. He looked both scandalized and smug. "I knew it! I knew you were plying me with compliments for a reason." Theodore rose from the couch and started swiftly towards the closet, rifling through the shirts hanging on the rack. Apparently, his tee shirt and jeans weren't presentable enough for Narcissa Malfoy.

"I'm not lying," Draco said with a slight smirk. He snaked his arms around Theodore's waist from behind as he frantically sifted through his clothes for something else to wear. "I'd much rather stay here and do terrible things to you. But mother invited us over last minute. And she was very insistent. You know how she gets."

A pout was forming on Theodore's lips as he cursed under his breath. Draco attempted to kiss it away, but Theodore turned around and placed a hand on his chest to keep Draco from advancing. He spoke softly with a tinge of disappointment, "She still doesn't know. Does she?"

Draco shook his head slowly. "At least she's still pretending not to know."

Still soft-spoken, Theodore asked, "Are we ever going to tell her?"

Draco answered with another question. "If your gran were still alive, would you tell her? Will you ever tell your father?"

Theodore sighed and paused to think about it for a brief moment, eyes cast downward. His answer was a solemn, noncommittal shrug.

Draco met Theodore's eyes, explaining gently what they both already understood. "Theodore, unlike you, I'm still deeply entrenched in our world. I still have a family to which I'm obligated. My father is already halfway towards Death's door and it would kill him if I admit to such a thing." The more Draco spoke, the more Theodore looked unhappy. Draco pulled him into an embrace. "But don't you dare think for a second that I'm ashamed of you."

"Fine. Whatever," Theodore sighed somberly against Draco's ear. Just from his voice, he could tell Theodore was still pouting.

He took Theodore's face in his hands and locked eyes with him – silvery grey meeting ice blue. Draco knew that Theodore was one of the few people who could read the secret emotions hidden behind his otherwise cold stare. His mouth formed the words, "I swear, I am not ashamed of my feelings for you, Theodore," while his eyes declared his love. Draco paused, waiting for a response, hoping he wouldn't have to utter the words he felt in his heart in order to make Theodore believe it.

Theodore gently curled his hands around Draco's wrists and let his eyes fall. As his thumbs softly caressed Draco's skin, he whispered, "If you're not ashamed, then why won't you tell me what those feelings are?"

Draco took his hands away from Theodore's face and let his arms drop to his sides. "You of all people should understand why. You're a purveyor of words, Theo. Once they are written, once they are spoken, they become fixed."

Theodore finished Draco's thought, offering his own explanation with a slight tinge of bitterness, "And you don't want to become entrapped within the word. You're afraid speaking it will give it weight and meaning."

Draco gently pulled Theodore flush against him with a hand on the small of his back. He hooked a finger under Theodore's chin, bringing their lips close together and uttered quietly, "Tell me, Theodore. Do you honestly believe this has neither weight nor meaning?" Draco pressed a kiss upon his mouth, softly at first, waiting for Theodore's assent before deepening it.

Theodore shook his head slowly with a wry grin. "You're so full of it, Draco."

"Am not," Draco replied playfully before nipping Theodore's bottom lip. Draco slipped his hands over the back of Theodore's trousers, caressing his backside through the fabric, and whispered hotly into his ear, "When I fuck you, Theodore, do you really believe it's meaningless?" His grip tightened suddenly, eliciting a soft gasp from Theodore. "Because if that's what you think, then I'm doing something wrong."

Draco took him by the arm and jerked him around so that they were both facing the long mirror that hung in Theodore's closet. It was actually a tiny room Draco had turned into a walk-in-closet when he was horrified to discover that Theodore kept his clothes, even his nice designer pieces, folded in trunks. Draco stood closely behind Theodore, staring intently at the reflection of his lover from over his shoulder. Theodore caught Draco's intense eyes in the mirror and took the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth – one of his coy mannerisms that Draco found terribly arousing. Whenever Theodore did this, Draco always had the urge to kiss him hard, to scorch away all pretense of timidity, to inspire Theodore to use those teeth more purposefully on him. Draco didn't break his gaze into the mirror as he took Theodore's face in his hand, turned it to meet his, and devoured his lips wetly. Draco's free arm snaked around Theodore's waist and crossed over his abdomen as he held him in a tight embrace while drinking in the delicious sight of them kissing in the mirror.

From this unique vantage point, Draco was able to study how Theodore kissed. He had certainly become accustomed to what it felt like, but not to what it looked like. The sight of Theodore's tongue slipping ever so slightly from his mouth to subtly lick Draco's lips before closing over them was almost as delightful as the way it felt. He let his eyelids flutter closed for a moment as he took in a quivering breath, tasting the now familiar flavor of mint shrouding a faint, underlying flavor of cigarettes. He involuntarily released the breath as a soft moan, and when he opened his eyes, Theodore was looking at him with a slight smirk playing on his wet lips.

"You see? Meaningless," Draco teased, letting a hand wander down to Theodore's lap. "I feel nothing," he purred as he stroked the outline of Theodore's growing arousal through his trousers.

A cheeky grin quirked the corners of Theodore's lips. "If you keep at it, Malfoy, I'm sure you'll feel something.

"Yeah, I'll bet," said Draco in a low drawl as he turned his face slightly to kiss the side of Theodore's neck.

By the time they arrived at Malfoy Manor, they were sufficiently late for dinner. Draco kissed both of Narcissa's cheeks and apologized, without any real remorse, "Sorry we're late, mum. Theodore was having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction."

That wardrobe malfunction, of course, being that Theodore couldn't keep his trousers on, thanks to Draco. The thrill of fucking Theodore against the mirror still colored Draco's cheeks a faint pink, long after the fact. He couldn't wipe the smirk from his face just thinking about it – about how deliciously pliant Theodore was in his hands, and how perfect their bodies looked together, interlocked like puzzle pieces. For every one of Draco's curves, Theodore had a complimentary crevice.

Horrified, Draco thought he saw his mother regarding Theodore with a knowing gleam in her eye.

"Oh, really, Theodore? Well, you look quite nice. It was worth the effort." She said, not bothering to hide the insincere inflection in her haughty voice, as Theodore greeted her with an air-kiss for each cheek.

His mother hooked an arm into Draco's. He led them off to the dining room, Theodore following close behind.

Narcissa spent the first two courses of dinner catching up with Draco, or rather, fussing over him, while Theodore ate quietly with an amused grin on his face.

"You look tired, Draco," said Narcissa, her tone more accusatory than concerned. "Are you getting enough sleep? It's too noisy at your townhouse in London. Perhaps you should consider moving back into The Manor."

Draco sat up straighter in his chair, shirking off any notion that he was tired. "I'm fine, mum. I just had a long day."

In fact, Draco was positively spent. He usually liked to take a nap after a good, vigorous shag, but their evening schedule would not allow it. Draco generally avoided such strenuous activity before going out at night, but he couldn't help himself. Sex in front of a mirror was just too alluring for a narcissist. Draco found himself blushing again and threw a furtive glance at Theodore, who smiled knowingly at him as he ate a baby carrot with a faintly suggestive flair.

Thankfully, Narcissa did not catch the silent exchange between the two young men, but Draco's reaction didn't go unnoticed. "Are you getting ill, perhaps? You look a bit flushed."

"No mum, I'm fine," assured Draco, before taking a sip of Chardonnay. "It must be the wine."

Narcissa nodded, sipping daintily from her own crystal goblet, "Hm. Yes. It's quite nice. But go easy on it before the main course, lest you get ill, Draco. You know alcohol goes straight to your head if you haven't eaten."

Draco saw Theodore biting back a chuckle. He said impatiently, placing the glass down on the mahogany table and pushing it away, "I'm fine mother."

Narcissa continued to pry, "You look thin. Is that house elf of yours not feeding you properly? Shall I have him replaced?"

Draco gazed down at his salad, which looked entirely unappetizing at the moment despite it being his favorite (endives with crumbled goat cheese and walnuts, drizzled with balsamic vinegar.) He inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled slowly through his mouth to steady his nerves, upon which his mother was treading on the last of. "Mother, I assure you. I'm fine. I'm healthy, I'm eating well, and I'm sleeping well. In general, I'm living quite well, mum. Please, stop fussing."

"Yet no girlfriend to speak of, hm?" It was more of a blunt statement of fact than an inquiry on his mother's part.

The salad suddenly became exceptionally appetizing. Draco occupied his mouth with a large bite before answering. "My love life is not up for discussion, mother."

Narcissa sighed, "Oh dear. I take that as a no." She turned to Theodore and implored, "Can't you help Draco with that?"

"With his love life? Oh, I have, Mrs. Malfoy," replied Theodore with a smug grin on his face. Draco nearly choked on a walnut. "I've taken him out several times. Introduced him to plenty of pretty, young, women." He wasn't lying. Draco and Theodore went out in muggle London together quite often. Draco had met a number of Theodore's female friends who might be considered attractive.

Narcissa raised a hopeful eyebrow. "And?"

"Apparently, nobody's good enough for your son," said Theodore. This was also not a lie.

She snorted primly. "Of course. Draco is an exceptional young man. He's the most eligible bachelor in Wizarding England, and quite possibly, all of Europe." Narcissa gave Theodore a stern, haughty look. "You were introducing Draco to the right sort, I hope. Pure-blood, well bred. Marriage material."

Draco knew Theodore was shit at lying, so he quickly cut in. "Of course, mother. You think Theodore would align himself with any other sort of women?" Definitely. The sort of women Theodore befriended these days was decidedly muggle, more likely than not a lesbian, and had at least one body part pierced or tattooed.

"I would assume not," Narcissa answered her son, then returned her attention to Theodore, "You're from a fine family, Theodore. I doubt you'd sully the prestigious House of Nott by consorting with the dregs of society." Then she pierced him with a meaningful leer before reclining back in her chair and gesturing to the house elf to serve the next course. She sipped her wine. "I read your novel. You've got quite an imagination," she said casually, yet with a noticeably astute undertone.

Draco scrambled to get Theodore out of the hot seat. "Doesn't he, mum? I often wonder where Theodore gets his ideas. They're so far off from his reality. Right, Theo?"

It was like they were children again. Draco was putting words in Theodore's mouth to keep from getting in trouble with his mother. Though as boys, Draco was usually unconcerned for Theodore. Now he feared for them both.

"Right. Pure fantasy," said Theodore, smiling slightly, though looking down at his salad.

Narcissa grinned – toothy and shrewd, juxtaposed by a honey toned voice. "How clever you are, Theodore. Surely _you _must have a girlfriend."

The knuckles of Draco's hand were white as he gripped his water goblet so tightly that it was on the verge of shattering. He prayed to the gods that Theodore could keep lying. Narcissa likely saw through the lies, but at least lying kept discussion of the real issues at bay.

Theodore's face lit up with a smile, though he didn't dare look at Draco. "There's somebody very special in my life."

"Ah. How wonderful for you." Narcissa's shrewd grin softened slightly. "I can tell from your face that you're quite smitten with her."

"I'm hopelessly in love," said Theodore. Then, damn it, Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip to keep his smile from spreading further and Draco nearly lost it. He thought of all manner of horrible things to prevent himself from smiling – dead kittens, Voldemort alive and well, his favorite Paul Smith suit irreparably stained with red wine.

"That's great news. I'll expect wedding bells to chime soon. You're not getting any younger and I'm sure your father is itching for grandchildren."

That killed it, for both Theodore and Draco. The mention of Theodore's father always dampened his mood. Surely, Narcissa knew from the high society grape vine that Theodore had been estranged from his father for years. Bringing him up in the same conversation as weddings and grandchildren was no doubt a carefully hidden jibe at the two young men. Mother always knew what to say to make Draco feel eternally guilty.

Draco spent the rest of dinner engaging his mother in a discussion about renovating the East wing of the house. It was something he couldn't care less about, but knew it would keep Narcissa off the topic of his or Theodore's personal lives.

Finally, dessert came. "Darling, why don't you bring some cake up to your father. I'm sure he'd like to see you," suggested Narcissa.

Draco felt awful for not mentioning his father once the entire evening. "How is he?"

Lucius Malfoy had been ill for quite some time. His short stint in Azkaban had left him severely weakened, both physically and emotionally. He became prone to long bouts of sickness, exacerbated by depression. Lucius had been plagued with pneumonia for weeks and was bed-ridden at the moment, cared-for around the clock by a live-in healer. Of course, Narcissa was a formidable nurse as well. But nobody seemed to tackle the issue of Lucius' mental health, which surely must have been impacting his physical health. Draco hated to see his father, who he once worshiped as the regal, Malfoy patriarch, weakened to this extent. Draco avoided seeing him as much as he could, unable to deal with the pain of confronting the shell of his former idol.

"Healer Ming started putting a smidge of opium in his tea. It's ameliorated his mood swings slightly." Narcissa handed him a plate of cake and nudged him on. "Go. I'll keep Theodore entertained." Draco left reluctantly as his mother rounded on Theodore and asked him about his plans to write more books.

Draco knocked on the door of his father's bedchamber. An ageing witch with a tight black knot of hair answered the door and whispered, "Mr. Malfoy. It's been a while. Your father has been asking about you." She ushered him in.

"How's he fairing?" Draco asked.

"The same. You should visit more. It makes him happy," she answered with a gentle smile. Draco doubted that was true. With that, she left Draco alone with his father and Suraya, their Afghan hound that lay at the foot of the bed. Lucius generally didn't allow the dog to sleep on the bed. The fact that the dog was curled up over Lucius' feet did not bode well for his father's loneliness and health condition.

He sat upright against the headboard with a tray on his lap, sipping tea. Draco approached slowly and sat in the chair beside the bed. "I brought you some cake to go along with that tea, father."

Lucius glanced to the plate suspiciously. "What sort of cake?"

Draco answered, placing the plate neatly on the tray, "Coconut."

"I think I'll pass, Draco." Lucius look displeased with more than the cake. "What have you been doing, son? You haven't been around in weeks."

Draco shrugged. "The usual."

"A whole lot of nothing, then?" Narcissa had an uncanny way of making a question sound like an accusation and Lucius's ability to do so also came tipped with poison. The guilt factor had already come into play within the first few seconds of their conversation.

"Father, I-" Draco began, but Lucius answered for him.

"Let me guess. You've been cavorting around London with that Nott boy, squandering my money on frivolity and expensive muggle clothes."

Draco hated how his father continued to call Theodore 'That Nott Boy' as if they were still children. He opened his mouth to retort, but was again halted by his father's overbearing personality.

"Honestly, son, how do you expect to find a wife if you hang around him all the time? It's obviously not attracting the right sort of attention. Why not be seen with that Zabini fellow? He always has a different, attractive, pure-blood witch on his arm every time I encounter him at social functions. I'm sure he's got a few girls to spare."

"I'm doing just fine, father," said Draco through pursed lips.

"Well I'm not, Draco. Look at me," he gestured dramatically and exaggerated, "I could keel over and die tomorrow and-"

Draco reached out and took his father's hand gently. "Don't talk like that, father, you're not going to-"

"Die tomorrow? Hm. Well, I'm sure you'd just love that." He dropped his son's hand and crossed his arms over his chest.

Draco glared. "No, I would not."

"You're doing an awful job of showing that your father actually matters to you, Draco. You've done absolutely nothing to uphold the name I've made for us, done nothing to ensure the future of our bloodline."

Lucius swished his wand and vanished the tray from his lap, which was a good thing, because Draco felt like flinging it across the room. Of course, it didn't matter to Lucius that Draco was happy for the first time in years. It didn't matter that he was finally living independently as an adult. All that fucking mattered to Lucius Malfoy was their name. His son's wellbeing was inconsequential. Draco couldn't speak. His hands were balled up into fists.

Then Lucius' tone softened. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I know I've expected quite a lot from you, son, and you have lived up to my expectations spectacularly. But now, all I want from you is to find a good wife and produce the Malfoy heir before I pass on. That's hardly unreasonable. Is it?"

Draco knew that there was no other answer to that question except the one his father wanted to hear. He sighed heavily. "No, it's not."

Lucius pat his son on the back. "Good boy. Your mother and I have been discussing good matches for you."

Draco's head snapped up in alarm. "You what?"

"I know arranged marriages have gone out of fashion, but that doesn't mean we can't help the process along. We've compiled a list of witches from good stock."

"Father," Draco admonished.

Lucius held up a placating hand. "Don't worry, we've weeded out the less than attractive ones. I can assure you that they'll all be to your liking." He took out a small piece of parchment from inside his brocade dressing gown and handed it to Draco.

He scanned down the thankfully short list and looked up with a skeptically raised eyebrow. "Marcelline Flint? Marcus' little sister? What is she, twelve?"

Lucius chuckled. "She's just a few years younger than you. But your mother assures me she's a lovely young woman. Graduated Beaubatons with honors two years ago."

Draco picked out a familiar name and bristled slightly. "Astoria Greengrass."

"What a beauty, that one, eh?" Lucius said with a whistle.

"Yeah, I know," Draco said blandly, "I dated her a few years ago. She's gorgeous, but she's awful when she's drunk." He shuddered at the memory of holding back Astoria's hair as she hurled her dinner into the Thames after a night of clubbing with Daphne and Blaise.

"We'll have to work on that. But she's still a promising prospect," said Lucius.

"Alright. I'll keep them all under consideration." Draco tucked the parchment into the inside pocket of his blazer, knowing he'd tear it to shreds as soon as he got home.

Lucius ruffled Draco's hair affectionately. He and his mother were the only people allowed to trespass upon his heavily guarded blond locks. "That's my boy. Now tell me. Been to any good quidditch matches lately?"

By the time Draco escaped, dessert was finished in the dining room. Narcissa was sipping tea and reading a magazine. She gestured to the patio on the other side of the louvered doors. "Theodore's outside having a smoke. How's your father?"

"He'll be fine, mum." He kissed her forehead and gently rubbed her back with a reassuring, yet feigned, smile. "Everything's going to be fine mum."

He walked out onto the patio to stand next to Theodore, who was leaning on the stone ramparts, looking out over the wide expanse of grass, flicking ashes to the lawn below. Draco inhaled the evening spring air and gazed up at the glittering night sky. "I never noticed how much brighter the stars are above Malfoy Manor until I lived in London. The city lights drown them out."

Theodore blew out a plume of smoke and answered distantly. "Yeah."

Narcissa peeked her head through the glass doors. "I'm going to bed, boys."

Draco scurried to the doorway, kissed his mother goodnight, and thanked her for dinner. Inwardly, he thanked the gods for a second away from his parents. Theodore waved his gratitude and his evening tidings from the railing. When Draco returned to Theodore's side, he sighed heavily.

His eyes revisited the heavens as he mused fondly, "Remember the last time we were stargazing at Malfoy Manor?"

The memory was bittersweet. It was late in the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts. That was the night that decided the next ten years for Draco and Theodore. He and Theodore had a row after a fencing match in which Draco implied Theodore wanted him. Theo avoided Draco for weeks after that incident. But he knew Theodore couldn't avoid him much longer and expected him to show up with his father that night. Lucius was hosting a very important meeting. Narcissa concocted an excuse to get the boys out of the house. Draco lay on the great lawn atop a wool blanket, stared up at the sky, and awaited a meteor shower that would never come. But he wasn't really anticipating the sight of falling stars, he was looking forward to spending the evening with Theodore.

In the weeks leading up to that night, Draco couldn't stop thinking about Theodore, about how they nearly kissed – about how Theodore's body felt pressed up against his, staining Draco's white fencing uniform with blood, imprinting his subtle heat upon his skin like a memory. Draco's desire for Theodore had been gnawing at him all summer until he resigned to do something about it. It was forbidden, it was disgusting, and it didn't make sense. But Draco knew he couldn't go on without getting what he wanted. And what he wanted more than anything was to snog that boy senseless. He promised himself he'd only let it happen once, just to satisfy his teenage urges and his curiosity.

When Theodore came close enough to kiss, Draco felt something unexpected. He could feel it tingling throughout his whole body, making him sweat in the balmy evening breeze. In that instant, Draco knew he wouldn't be able to stop with just one kiss. He wanted to tear Theodore's clothes from his body and ravage him right there on the lawn. He found himself unbearably hard inside his trousers. Draco understood that he was not emotionally equipped to deal with what these feelings meant, and thus also understood that he couldn't allow even one kiss. But it was too late. Theodore's lips were already upon his. It took all of Draco's resolve to keep still, to not kiss back, to not pin Theodore to the ground and devour every inch of his body.

What Draco didn't know at the time was how much it would hurt Theodore to reject him like that.

"How could I forget?" Answered Theodore, sounding bitter.

"We could make amends, you know," proposed Draco with a smirk, snaking an arm around the small of Theodore's back, "I'm sure with a well placed disillusionment charm we could fuck on the Great Lawn undetected." He ghosted his lips on Theodore's neck and murmured, "Beneath the stars. It'll be brilliant. I'll even let you top."

Theodore wrenched himself out of Draco's arms and spat quietly, "Fuck you, Malfoy." He flicked the butt of his cigarette off the patio and turned to go, leaving Draco astonished. "I'm going home."

Draco clamped his hand around Theodore's arm to keep him from departing. "What the fuck is your problem, Theodore? I'm sorry I dredged up the past. I didn't know it would upset you so much."

Theodore glared at him, eyes glossy with un-spilled tears. The pain and regret in his blue eyes startled Draco. "You're unbelievable, Draco. Un-fucking-believable." With that, Theodore yanked out of Draco's grasp and stormed down the steps of the terrace. Draco was too stunned to follow right away. He watched Theodore tromp through the grass towards the gates before scuttling down the stairs after him.

"Don't, Draco," called Narcissa. Draco stopped short, flung around, and looked up to see his mother standing on the balcony of her bedroom. "Let him go, darling. It's for the best."

Draco turned to the darkened grounds, eyes quickly scanning the lawn. Theodore was gone.


End file.
